Playing With Matches

by Suri Rosen

  “Look how lucky,” she said. “Raina, go get some chips.”

  I grimaced. “Bubby, please.”

  “Oy, don’t be so afraid of that aunt of yours!” she said. “Just go get us something to eat.”

  I reluctantly rose to my feet and trudged to the kitchen. Bubby was a constant predicament in waiting so I searched the pantry for that elusive snack; something tasty but not perilous. Apparently there was no such thing so I just peeled two bananas, cut them into small circles, and arranged them on a paper plate.

  I returned to the den just as Fisk was sauntering up to bat, and positioned the plate between us.

  Bubby glanced down at the plate. “Monkey food you feed me?” she said with a look of disgust on her face.

  “But they’re sweet and nutritious!”

  “Oh please.” She rolled her eyes. “Can you at least get me a beer?”

  Mira appeared at the doorway. “Everyone okay? I just finished working on some briefs and I’m going to sleep now.”

  Mira glanced down at the plate on the couch. “Would you like these sliced bananas, Mira?” Bubby said. “They’re sweet and nutritious.”

  “It’s okay, Ma.” Mira stepped into the kitchen and disappeared upstairs. Fisk was now poised at the plate. We watched breathlessly as the pitcher wound up. He released the ball and it flew toward home plate.

  “I’m having heart palpitations,” Bubby called out as she fanned her face with both hands.

  Fisk smacked the ball and we watched as he danced to the side and directed the arc of the ball with his arms, willing it to stay inside the foul line.

  “Bingo!” Bubby yelled out. I clapped as Fisk’s teammates mobbed him.

  She nodded and turned to me. “Tell me what’s more exhausting then a game-winning home run in the twelfth inning? I’m going to bed.” She pulled herself to her feet and tousled my hair.

  “Thanks Bubby,” I said.

  I now had the floor to myself. I sat in front of the computer and opened the Matchmaven account, which was now a portal to the emotional universe of Leah, Daniel, and Ilana. There were two new matchmaking requests. I added them to my database. There were also messages from Leah, Ilana, and — surprise — Jonathan, urging me to set them up. I still hadn’t figured out how to inform Daniel that Leah wasn’t interested in seeing him again.

  There was some serious customer loyalty happening here.

  My first goal though was to find someone new for Leah. When the failure of the date with Daniel hit her, she might tailspin into despair. I combed the emails over and over again and frankly couldn’t find anyone … good enough.

  I glanced at the clock on the computer — 11:30 p.m. My arms had grown heavy, my mind was wandering, and I still had an English composition to complete. An instant message came in from Daniel.

  Daniel: Maven, Leah was so sweet. Did she say anything?

  Maven: Actually, yes. I did talk to her.

  Daniel: Excellent! I thought it went really well.

  Help.

  Maven: It’s a bit complicated.

  Daniel: Is there a problem? JUST TELL ME.

  Maven: It’s about the dog.

  Daniel: Bronx? You said to do whatever it takes to stay calm as long as I didn’t bring my nieces or nephews.

  Maven: I did not tell you to bring a dog. You see the problem, Daniel? When a girl goes on a date —

  Daniel: Did I blow it?

  Maven: — she generally assumes it’s with only ONE mammal.

  Daniel: I’M SUCH AN IDIOT.

  Maven: She said you were nice but you’re not for her.

  Daniel: Maven, I’m begging you. Please find someone for me.

  So here’s a rule of thumb. When a grown man uses the word beg — you’re cooked. What was I supposed to do? I felt like I had no choice so I relented. While I searched through my little database I caught Deb Cohen on Gchat. I felt a bit more confident after Leah’s date with Daniel. Leah had liked the man after all; she just wasn’t interested in the beast. I typed away, describing Daniel to Deb and confirmed that she was okay with the dude/dog combo.

  After I warned Deb about the dog, I warned Daniel about the dog. What I really wanted was to warn the dog about the dog, because he was seriously messing things up for everyone. But everyone was very cooperative so I returned to my English assignment and finished it at 1:30 a.m.

  My goal was to find Leah a husband but somehow I was getting sucked into this World Wide Web of Sadness, and it was expanding with each new match. The truth was, the world of Matchmaven was much more compelling and urgent than my schoolwork, which was kind of tanking. And that could be a problem because the more successful I’d be in making matches, the more people would be begging me to help them. In other words, winning for them meant losing for me.

  Plus, they were undaunted by my failure. I now had four separate people expecting me to make new matches.

  The mind of an eligible single is an unknowable one.

  Dear Maven,

  Can you help me? I want nothing more than to find a long-term relationship, but I’ve had so much heartbreak. Unfortunately, I have exceptional looks that tend to intimidate guys. I just moved here from London so maybe I’ll have better luck finding a life partner. I’m a financial advisor, forty-seven, blond-haired and blue-eyed. People just assume that I’m thirty, and the truth is that I feel young and find older guys set in their ways and stodgy. I’m looking for a kosher, solid, decent, intelligent, good-looking, interesting, and financially independent guy with a great sense of humour who can deal with my looks.

  Dena

  In the past two months I had encountered an ocean of grief and loneliness but I had never really considered the emotional pain of the supermodel. It was touching. Still I loved this woman. She was made for Jonathan Sandler. They were two variations on the same theme. They were both extremely self-assured about their abilities and looks. And the beauty of the whole thing was that by the time they stopped lying to each other about their ages, they might already be madly in love. I sent off introductions to both of them.

  With Deb, Daniel, Jonathan, and Dena taken care of for now, I had to focus on Ilana and keep my eye open for something great for Leah. I studied the emails. I made a short list, and for Ilana I chose Aaron, the mathematics doctoral student.

  I leaned back at the chair and gazed at the stucco ceiling. I still couldn’t quite digest how bizarre this was. No matter how unsuccessful the dates were, these people were all still begging me to fix them up.

  Any doctor with this failure rate would probably lose their medical licence. But apparently, when it comes to fixing up singles, there’s no such thing as matchmaking malpractice.

  chapter 19

  Dogs Tend to Enjoy Eating Disgusting Items

  The following Monday, with Leah on the family room computer, and me in my bedroom, I started to step up my plan.

  Matchmaven: Leah, Daniel was crazy about you. Guys like you.

  Leah: Maven, I feel like such a loser.

  Matchmaven: No, no, no. You’re the one of the highest quality people I’m working with.

  Leah: Really?

  Matchmaven: Absolutely. How are you adjusting to Toronto?

  Leah: *Sigh* I’m so lonely. Between work and school I feel so alone.

  Like a wrapped package with a pretty bow, here was my opportunity.

  Matchmaven: Didn’t you say that you used to be really close with your sister?

  Leah: We were always best friends.

  Matchmaven: So why not reach out to her?

  Leah: I don’t know. I do miss her.

  I clasped my hands to my chest. Yes! She was finally coming around.

  Leah: But she’s given me and my family so much grief. I’m wary.

  Matchmaven: Whatever happened, you’ll be healthier if you let go o
f your anger. Maybe it’s time to reconcile.

  Leah: I’m afraid to trust her.

  This was too good to be true. It was so ridiculously easy to work on her like this.

  Matchmaven: Start slow. You may find that she’s matured. Why impose unnecessary loneliness on yourself?

  Leah: Maybe.

  I leapt onto my bed and jumped. When I was done, I landed on my butt, took a sip of soda water from my night table, and returned to Matchmaven. Deb was online so she gave me the complete scoop.

  She and Daniel were now in good shape, even though they got off to a shaky start. Without Bronx along, Daniel was uptight and nervous. But when he’d finished power sweating after the first hour, he calmed down and they enjoyed themselves enough for Deb to agree to another date two nights later. This time, Daniel brought the dog again, explaining to Deb that the vet insisted he not be left alone because Bronx was unwell. Deb sympathized, and the date went smoothly, even when she discovered that the “vet” was actually a dog psychiatrist who was treating Bronx for depression.

  That night Deb finally accepted that Daniel and Bronx came as a complete set. Individual parts not for sale.

  Just as Deb and I finished instant messaging, “Sweet Caroline,” my phone’s ring tone, jolted the silence of the room.

  “Hi Rain, it’s me, Deb,” she said.

  My breath caught in my throat.

  “Listen, I hope you don’t mind that I called you,” she babbled. “Ilana’s my best friend and she told me your name and number, but I promise I won’t tell anybody.”

  A shot of terror pushed me off the bed. “But Ilana said the same thing.”

  “Please don’t worry,” Deb said. “I swear neither of us will tell anyone else.” My dad was so right. When you tell just one person — it isn’t a secret anymore.

  “Why are you calling?” I said as I paced the bedroom.

  She sighed. “Because I’ve never felt such happiness in my life and it’s all because of you.”

  I stopped. “Really?”

  She was practically singing now. “I know I’m not supposed to have your number but the messaging couldn’t convey my gratitude to you. Daniel’s great!” Her voice was effervescent, like a glass of freshly poured seltzer.

  “Cool,” I said. I leapt onto my bed and bounced in the air.

  “I think he might be my soul mate, but he hasn’t hinted at anything. Should I be nervous?”

  “No,” I said, as I flopped onto my back. “If it’s meant to be, then it’ll work out at the right time. Trust me.”

  “You think so?”

  “I know so,” I said. “In the meantime hang tight and I’ll dig around and find out what’s going on in his mind.”

  “I love you, Rain!”

  I scratched my jaw. If she only knew.

  The next day Dahlia approached me as we filed out of math class. “How’s the spreadsheet working out?”

  “It’s amazing except for the fact that I don’t have any privacy at the Bernsteins. They moved the computer, which helps, but Leah uses the printer and Bubby’s always in that room.”

  “Hmm.” Dahlia hiked her knapsack over her shoulder. “If you want you can come to my place after school. We can whip up some cookie batter that will never see the inside of an oven.”

  It was the first week of December and this was the first invitation to anyone’s house I’d received from someone who wasn’t over the age of seventy-five.

  “You got me,” I said.

  Five hours later I was trailing after Dahlia across the marble tiles of her lobby, into a kitchen that must have housed a food preparation business, because it was utterly colossal. I mean, it was epic. There had to be a hundred feet of counter space, miles of hardwood cabinets, industrial-sized stainless steel appliances, and so much granite that somewhere in Italy a quarry must have been stripped clean.

  She opened the fridge door. “Sushi or cake batter?”

  “What, no compote?”

  “If you dare bring up Lillian Shimmel,” she said and we both giggled. Dahlia grabbed two Styrofoam trays of sushi from the fridge and set up her laptop on the breakfast nook counter while we settled onto two barstools.

  “Feel like working on some math?” Dahlia dug into her bag and scooped out the textbook.

  “You’re such a bad influence,” I groaned as she dropped the book on the counter with a heavy thwap. “Do we really have to do that?”

  She studied my face, trying to make sense of a member of a non-homework-loving species. “We have a math assignment due tomorrow. Why not?”

  “Because I’ve got … bursitis?”

  “Forget it, Irving, let’s get to work.”

  We spent the next forty-five minutes working on the math sheet “together” then took a break to whip up some eggless blondies. When the batter was mixed, we returned to the kitchen island with the mixing bowl and two spoons. Dahlia opened her chemistry textbook while I pored over the Matchmaven files.

  There was a new request in my account: a message from a woman named Esther.

  Dear Matchmaven,

  I heard that you’ve succeeded in helping people with challenges and I suppose that as a “senior citizen” I would be considered a “challenge.”

  Senior citizen?

  I was born and raised in Chicago and was always a strong student. When I completed high school, I had dreams of becoming a doctor. After I completed a year of undergraduate study, my father died and my mother was diagnosed with MS, so I went home to run the store to support her and my three younger sisters. I attended a community college at night and became an elementary school teacher.

  After my mother died, I went to live with an aunt in Toronto. I was single for a long time and had no luck finding a husband until I met the love of my life, Lev. We got married when I was almost thirty and the next six months were the happiest of my life. Tragically, he died suddenly from a brain aneurysm. I never remarried, never had children, and I’ve been alone most of my life. I know that there’s almost no chance that you’d have anyone for me at this age, but I thought I’d try anyways. I really want to believe in second chances. And you have the reputation of being very special.

  Esther

  Was it me or did it seem like the requests just kept getting sadder? My clients had shown me how much aloneness was out there, but this Esther seemed to be in a class of sorrow that outdid the others.

  I tried working on an English assignment, but I had Esther on the brain and it haunted me all evening. When we finished studying at 9:30, Dahlia drove me home. I climbed the stairs to get ready for bed and checked my phone. Daniel was ready to email.

  Matchmaven: How’s it going with Deb?

  Daniel: She’s awesome.

  Excellent! Now was the time to intervene on Deb’s behalf.

  Matchmaven: Any thoughts about popping the question?

  Daniel: All the time.

  Matchmaven: !!!! So why not just do it?

  Daniel: One thing is bothering me.

  Matchmaven: ???

  Daniel: It’s my dog, Bronx. He’s extremely intuitive. Almost analytical in how he views people, if you know what I mean.

  Matchmaven: For sure.

  Daniel: He’s actually brilliant. Anyway, I’m crazy about Deb but why isn’t he more excited? He’s not responding to her. I don’t get it.

  Matchmaven: So you’re saying you need Bronx’s blessing.

  Daniel: Basically, yes. I want to go to the next level with Deb, but this is concerning me.

  Matchmaven: Well, tell Bronx not to take too long. Deb won’t wait around forever.

  I certainly wasn’t about to wait around either. Immediately, after Daniel and I said goodbye, I called up Deb.

  “Deb, I found out what’s holding up Daniel,” I said breathlessly. “It’s the dog.”


  “I knew it,” she said. “It’s that Brooklyn.”

  “You mean Bronx?”

  “Whatever. Look, it helped Daniel loosen up at first. But that dog hates me. It constantly slobbers on me.”

  “That’s what dogs do,” I said. “They’re like babies with fur glued on.”

  “Well, this is targeted slobbering. And you should see the look he gets in his eyes, Rain. His drool is hostile.”

  “You’re paranoid.”

  “No, I’m telling you. He bares his teeth at me when Daniel turns away.” Her voice darkened. “He pretends to be one thing in front of Daniel, but to me he’s a different animal. Rain, I’m just going to come out and say it. Brutus is a two-faced dog.”

  “Yeah, but he’s part of the package, Deb.”

  “I finally meet a guy I like,” she moaned, “and he’s got a dog with the integrity of a snake oil salesman.”

  I could hear her groaning “Why, why, why, why?” as I padded back to the desk and flopped into the chair.

  “Maybe Bronx feels threatened by you,” I said. “Because Daniel will love you more than him.”

  “Get out.”

  I kicked off my shoes and spun the chair around. “You know what you need to do? You need to win him over. You need to buy that dog a pie or something.”

  There was silence on the phone. Then a new energy burst out from the other end. “That’s it!” she said, her voice ringing with excitement. “I’m going to buy that dog a pie!”

  “Well, maybe not an actual pie —”

  “No, it’s perfect. Botox loves Daniel’s food — challah, blueberry muffins, and donuts.”

  She paused for a second. “Now I understand. Boris has no idea that he’s a dog!”

  “Daniel probably doesn’t have the heart to tell him.”

  “Daniel’s going out of town soon and I’m supposed to be taking care of the dog. You know, walking him and feeding him. I’m going to take him a treat!”

  “I think Bronx is going to fall in love with you too!” I said. “Especially if you ever get his name right.”

  “I’m so excited. I’ll drop it off when I go to walk him,” she said.